Rosalind
by HedgieX
Summary: A series of Ros-centred scenes; each letter of her name is a chapter, the first being Ruthlessness. Also with a little Harry and Ruth, and other past characters, this story gives a whole new insight into the life of Rosalind Myers. Please read and review.
1. Ruthlessness

**Hi, this is a series of short scenes centred on Ros Myers and her characteristics; each letter of her name will form a****n unattached chapter, and the first is Ruthlessness.**

**I'm planning to do a story for each character, and I'd welcome suggestions as for chapter titles or ideas for stories!**

**I don't own Spooks, or any of the characters in it.**

**Please read,**** review, and enjoy! xx**

"Oh, for God's sake, Harry! We're MI5, not the bloody MET! Do we really need to worry about warrants to search terrorists' homes? Isn't saving London to be our priority?"

Harry merely arched his eyebrows, apparently untroubled by Ros's outburst. He had better things to prioritise, if he was honest, such as whether to wear a bow tie for his dinner with Ruth this evening. And if so, would a formal black be the best, or should he opt for something a little lighter – red, perhaps, or purple. Ruth liked purple, didn't she?

"Harry, are you listening to me?"

"Of course. And I understand, but my answer's still no, and will be no matter how long you continue to pester me."

"But Harry..."

"No, Ros," he interjected, with the kind of brisk tone she'd come to associate with him ending a conversation, "I know you're frustrated, but we've just got to wait. The time will come."

Ros shook her head and stormed from his office, leaving him to ponder over the controversial issue of food – it had been so many years since he'd be inclined to make an effort, and he seemed a little rusty on such areas as avoiding garlic...

"Well?" Lucas glanced up from the file he cradled on his lap as his head of section hurried by him, her harshly shaped blonde hair bouncing upon her shoulders, "What'd he say?"

"That we stay away until we've got more information on the ringleader. He seems to think it wouldn't be safe to burst in there too soon."

"Can't think where he conjured up that suggestion from."

"We need to act before he catches on to our plans; otherwise we're back to square one. Again. I'm sick of all this waiting around." Ros grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, slung it over her arm and headed for the exit.

"Ros!" Lucas called after her, but she'd already gone, leaving only the pod's soft buzzing behind. He sighed. Why was she always so impatient?

XxXxX

The street was mercifully quiet as Ros approached number 32. It appeared a normal home, at first glance, with sun-bleached grass and a peeling red front door. She approached nonetheless, tapping her knuckles against the plastic, and listening avidly for any sign of life. None came, and she moved as if to leave – maybe Harry had been right. But then the bedroom curtain twitched, and she froze. She couldn't be certain either way if she'd been noticed, but she'd definitely seen him. Lewis Martin.

With a hard kick, the door was thrust inwards, and Ros took the stairs two at a time, gun readied behind her back. She searched the bedrooms, but to no avail. Standing tensed in the centre of the landing, she caught a glimpse of a figure move from behind the bathroom door. On reflex, she shot. A child's scream echoed hollowly around the entire house, and a tiny body fell to the floor, golden curls falling over her pale face.

She fought the urge to run, so repulsed by what she'd just done. There were always two sides to every argument. How could she have known there'd be a child? If they'd waited longer they'd have found out. How could she not have shot her? He'd been in the bedroom, not the bathroom. She stood gazing at the body.

A floorboard creaked behind her, and she spun around again. Martin's eyes flickered between Ros and the child, his lips trembling as he realised what she'd just done. Whoever he was, whatever he'd done, that was his child. Dead. And it was all Ros's fault.

He flew towards her, and she toppled backwards, knocking her head against the banister with a sickening crunch. She felt blood trickling down her neck, her body throbbing. She saw Martin reach out for the abandoned gun, saw his finger rest on the trigger as he towered over her. Stared death in the face once again.

Then she grabbed his leg and dragged him down, tumbling across the landing until she crouched over him, droplets of blood dripping onto his top. Twisting his arm back until he squealed in surrender, she retook the gun, and held it over his face.

But something stopped her. The look on his face, perhaps. The concept that she'd just killed his daughter. Instead, she fired at his leg, the bullet piercing the flesh agonizingly. He struggled for a few moments, and then lay still.

And she fished out her phone, dialling Harry's number with a groan. What had she just done? He'd warned her this would happen one day. After months of waiting, her ruthlessness for a moment had ruined the entire operation.

And her boss was not going to be happy.

XxXxX


	2. Obligation

"Dad..." Ros's voice is soft as she takes his hand. Or maybe soft wasn't the right word for it. Weak. Weak and fearful.

He ignores her. His cell is lifeless; a worn mattress, a toilet that hardly qualifies as a pot, a rotting sink, an intruding CCTV camera. The only life is his movement, and it's not as if that really counts. He doesn't move any more. He doesn't laugh, or smile, or even engage in conversation. It breaks her heart to see him like this – so broken. She wonders if he is beyond repair this time.

"Dad, please. Why won't you talk to me anymore? You need to stay strong, or they've won. It's not so long now, before you're free. You just need to hold on."

"Just go, Rosalind."

Her full name stings her. That was her mother's suggestion, and for once he went along with her on it. But he never called her it. It didn't bother her that 'angel' or 'darling' were never mentioned; it was always simply Ros.

"No."

"You don't need to feel obliged to care."

But she does. And he knows it. They'd be the perfect team, those two, in a different world. Father and daughter, both in equal measures icy and bitter, yet so loyal to what they believed. That was why they were here, essentially. Weaknesses equalled downfalls. And underneath everything else they were so, so weak.

She tries a different tactic, "You look thin. Haven't they been feeding you? I could complain, if y..."

"I'm fine, Ros. Honestly," he sees her genuine concern, "I had sticky toffee pudding yesterday – it was like heaven on earth."

She can't manage a smile, "Would you like a crossword or something? A Sudoku, maybe; Harry gets so frustrated over those in his lunch hour. You must be so bored, cramped up in here."

"I enjoy the peace. It gives me time to think. And, believe me; I've got a lot of thinking to do."

"Mum's okay."

"Good. That's good."

Ros gives a deep sigh, "I don't like seeing you like this, Dad. You look so tired, and ill, and hopeless. You're not dead yet; you can't give up until it's over."

He lifts one shoulder in a non-committal shrug.

"Dad. Anyone you want me to ask to visit? Anything you want me to bring? Is there_ anything_ I can do to help you?"

He raises his head, and meets her gaze for the first time in many, many visits. She sees such deep pain in his expression, such sadness and longing. And she realises, a moment before he speaks, what he is going to ask her to do.

"Kill me, Ros."

**A different side to Ros, and one I enjoyed when she first arrived - her love for her dad. ****The next one up is Solitude; I'd love any suggestions for after that. Please review! :) xx**


	3. Solitude

**Thanks for the lovely reviews so far! I hope you're still enjoying the story. Yes, O was for Obligation – sorry! This one is Solitude:**

Ros stood in Harry's office, waiting. Her hand raised up to the glass, she gazed out into Section D, her eyes flickering around each one of the officers working at stations. Lucas was nearest, his tongue lolling slightly as he focused on the piles of paperwork in front of him. A little further away, Tariq sat clicking away simultaneously at a dozen computers. Ruth was engrossed in studying a map, Jo leaning over her shoulder at certain intervals to point things out.

She wondered if they were content. Content in their work, content in their privacy, content in their lives. No one in MI5 could be happy; not after the things they'd seen, and the ordeals they'd been through. But contentment was different. Contentment was about learning to deal with what was thrown at you in the best possible way, about making the most of every little joyous moment, and staying positive throughout the hard times.

Part of that was the people in your life.

Lucas, after the shock of Sarah's death, had partied hard with a different girl each night, and for a while his work had suffered. But he was a handsome man, with many attractive qualities, and he seemed to have finally settled down with an equally suitable match.

No one knew much about Tariq's life. He had a lot of friends on Facebook, if that was any good. But he also had family across the world he'd visit frequently, and mates he'd meet up with for computer game competitions and a pint down the pub. He seemed comfortable enough.

Ruth's life didn't take much explanation. She was with Harry now; they'd arrive for work with linked arms, and chatter mid-morning over coffee. Harry, in turn, seemed to avoid the whisky, and indeed his eyes were brighter and his smile wider since they'd married. Their lives came hand in hand now, along with Scarlet and Fidget, and they faced the horrors of a spooks' life together.

And as for Jo. Ros wouldn't say she was jealous of her exactly, but there was no mistaking that she was a very charming woman to be with and around, and although they fought, there was a strong bond between them. Jo had countless chattering uni friends, neighbours flocking to converse with her, family dinners dotted throughout the year. She had a good social life, and she needed it. In this job, everyone needed somewhere to hide.

That only left herself. While she could judge her colleagues, she found it hard to understand herself. And it left her wondering what they thought of her. Certainly, she'd had all kinds of names thrown at her; she hadn't been overly popular. But they liked her, didn't they? They seemed to trust her, at least; to look up to her. Wasn't that all she could ask?

She wasn't lonely. There was a fine line between loneliness and solitude, and she wasn't balanced precariously on it. She was content alone. Not happy, but content. For now, that was good enough.

**I don't own Spooks. Thanks for reading; please review :) xx**


	4. Anger

**Yeah, I know the characters are kind of muddled up but it's wishful thinking... For those of you wanting Harry and Ruth's date**** ;) -**

"Read any good books lately, Ruth?" Harry questioned as he lifted his wine glass to his lips, his voice tense and anxious. He liked to send his enemies messages in the only language they understood; blood for blood. When it came to this side of things – the small talk – he wasn't so smooth.

Ruth's mouth twitched into a smile, and Harry felt a surge of love for her, but she shook her head in amusement, "Great chat-up line, there, Harry. Sitting in Claridges sipping the most expensive red wine they can possible find us, and you want to know if I've read any good books."

"Well, I...we..."

She laughed outright now, her eyes glittering, "I have, as it happens. I could spend many an hour reviewing my favourites to you. But Harry, we can discuss that anytime; in the office, in the park...on the bus. This evening needs to be more special than that."

Harry was silent for a long moment, but then he smiled too, reaching out a hand across the table and taking hers, "Ruth, I..."

A front door slammed, and the guests in the hotel fell silent as Ros stormed into the grand room, her blonde hair flying out behind her, and her lips set in an angry scowl, "How bloody dare you!"

"Ros, this isn't..."

"This isn't the right time, is it not? No, of course! You want to spend an evening with...with her! Run away with another spook, why don't you, you bloody hypocrite! And to do what? Sit around discussing Jane bloody Austen?"

"Ros..." Ruth stood up, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but Ros shook her off furiously.

"Do you know what you've done, Harry? Shall I tell you what your decisions have caused while you're too busy to care?"

"Ros, outside," Harry stood and gave her a hard shove in the direction of the exit, glancing around shiftily as the various faces swivelled to watch the exchange of harsh words, "Now."

"Look at this!" she spun back around and held up her phone, shoving the image into his face, "Look what you've done!"

Harry froze, then digested what he was seeing and dragged her out by the arm into the cold, leaving a flushed Ruth staring after them along with half of the diners.

Ros was still screaming at him, "Look at what you bloody did! Just look at it – don't turn away! Look at their faces; look at the dying child in the corner clutching his teddy! Thousands dead already, thousands more expected! The entire city is decimated! And all because of your bloody ignorance!"

"I...I don't understand?" his voice was hoarse, and they both knew it.

"No. Of course you don't. I bet you don't even remember signing the form. Too busy deciding what tie to wear, no doubt. Whether pasta was too messy to eat on a date," Ros snapped, watching as Harry blushed – she was just so accurate in her predictions, "Right, well, think back, Harry. A few hours ago. A file was left on your desk – some rights to infiltrate a terrorist association in Iran, or something. You didn't even bother to read it, did you? Did you! Because if you had, you wouldn't have signed it! I know you, Harry; you wouldn't have signed it! You wouldn't have signed the death warrant of all these people! But this time you just didn't bloody care, did you?"

"Ros, I think you should..."

"It went wrong, Harry. It went wrong. The fighting backfired; the terrorists set off a bomb in the heart of the city. And that was it. So many people dead, because of one wrong decision. And it all comes down to you," she sounded beyond anger now; her eyes were brimming with tears from so much shouting, "Lucas headed up that team, sent in to bring them down. And now he's almost certainly dead. So well done, Harry. Well done."

With that, she stormed away, throwing her phone to the floor in her utter anger at him. First her father, and now Lucas. Her colleague, and her...her friend. Gone. He would pay for this.

**Another different side...hehe I'm not sure even Ros would go to that extreme but anyway it's fun to write :)**

**I don't own [Spooks]...not in real life anyway...**

**What did you think? Please review and tell me xx**


	5. Love

**So, this isn't the most original chapter name in the world, but L kind of seems a bit difficult to do except for the obvious...****anyway, love with Ros could be fun! Thanks to Genevastar for the suggestions, by the way – they were a big help :)**

"Home Secretary," Ros smiled amiably as she reached out a hand to the man, eyeing him with cool emerald eyes.

"Ros," he returned the smile, somewhat nervously, "Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure."

He gave a nod to the security guards hovering by the door, and they disappeared, leaving a stiff silence behind them.

"Anything particular you wanted, then? Or just a good old chinwag to pass by the hours of sitting around planning speeches?" Ros considered sarcastically when Andrew didn't speak.

"I know politicians don't have a great reputation at MI5..."

"You're right there," she agreed, sitting down in the seat opposite him, "However, I'm willing to give you a chance, if you want. Don't want to be thought of as unfair now, do I?"

"How's Harry doing?"

"He's good."

"Still hating me?"

"I wouldn't say so. Although, with Harry, it's very hard to tell. And he does seem to have these certain prejudices I myself try so hard to avoid."

There was quiet again for a moment, and Andrew frowned apprehensively, but a smile twisted across Ros's lips after a moment. Politicians weren't great with jokes. They were always so busy searching for lies and deception that they never really saw the truth. They were similar to spies, really.

"So, Home Secretary, h..."

"It's Andrew, please."

"Okay," she agreed, "_Andrew. _How are you finding your new job? Hard work as an unsung hero of government?"

"I think you'll find that's you. I've had enough fame already to last me a lifetime. And probably into the afterlife, too, if there is such a thing."

"Yes, well. They do say any publicity is good, so count your blessings."

"I try to," he grinned, his eyes sparkling for a moment.

Ros found herself oddly attracted to him – no, he wasn't exactly her normal type, if she had one, but he seemed...nice. Better than nice. Warm, and half humorous, and amazingly sincere for a politician.

"Anyway; here I am avoiding the point again..."

"The point being?"

He didn't speak for a moment, instead staring down at the desk as if summoning up courage, "The point being...this is going to sound so unprofessional."

"I'm no stranger to that territory. Go for it."

"Okay. The point being, I like you, Ros. I _like_ you. And I'd like you to come for a drink with me – tonight."

"Oh. Right."

"You don't have to, if you don't want. It was just a suggestion. No, it was silly of me; I barely even..."

"Andrew," she spoke over him, and he was silent, meeting her gaze again, "I'd like to. In fact, I'd _really_ like to."

Andrew smiled at the tone of warmth in Ros's voice, "Seven o'clock? At The George?"

Ros nodded in agreement, "Sounds good to me."

"Well, then..."

"Nice doing business with you, Home Secretary," Ros took his hand again, gave it an extra squeeze, and turned away, heading back out into the corridor with a grin stretched across her face.

**Thanks for reading :) Hope you're still enjoying them – please review xx**


	6. Intuition

**Sorry I haven't updated in ages! Hope you'll forgive me and find the time to read this chapter.**** Please review too – I really appreciate your feedback and suggestions, even if it's just a sentence :) xx**

**Intuition**

"Lucas. Wait," Ros's monotone echoed through the deserted hall. Lucas froze on the spot, spinning back to face his colleague with a frown etched across his face.

"What?"

"This doesn't feel right."

"Well, we'd better run then," his expression changed to a smirk, "Oh, come on, Ros; lighten up."

"Lucas, I'm serious. There's something bad going on here," she turned back, glancing nervously down all the shady corridors leading off from their designated track, "I don't like it."

Lucas nodded, understanding that Ros didn't act like this very often, but also determined to finish the job, "We'll just bug the rooms and get out of here – nothing's going to happen."

"There's no back-up; Harry was moaning about how tied up Special Branch were earlier. What if something goes wrong?"

"Look, Ros, if you want to go back and drink coffee in the car, be my guest," he took a few steps further along the corridor, then turned back and retreated, "You look a bit pale, actually. Maybe you'd better step out of this one. Go on; I can manage."

"No, it's fine," she shook herself and brushed past him, disappearing down the corridor in a matter of seconds, and leaving Lucas to sigh and follow.

"Right, I'll do the meeting room, you deal with the bedrooms - Malcolm will, no doubt, thank you for it when he's listening late at night. Or not," Lucas fiddled with a handful of wires in his pocket, "Ros?"

A squeal reached his ears, and the bug slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a click. He moved towards the pained sound, but before he could search for Ros a rough hand was clamped over his mouth, and a sack shoved over his head. He too yelled, but it was muffled by the material stuffed in his mouth, and after a few moments of struggling he felt a needle stab his neck. Mere seconds later, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

XxXxX

"Ros?" Lucas murmured, forcing himself up, and clasping his head as it throbbed, "Ros, are you here?"

He blinked rapidly, and gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. He appeared to be in a cellar of some kind; up a flight of stairs was an obviously locked door, and the only window in the place was a small barred window.

He stood up, wobbling slightly, and searched further, finding to his horror that Ros's slight frame lay motionless in the corner of the room, her head oozing with blood. He crouched down beside her, brushing her blonde fringe from her forehead, and felt his eyes begin to water. Ros...Ros was Ros. But he loved her, in an odd kind of unconventional way. Why hadn't he listened?

"Ros?"

"Mm..."

"Ros. Oh, I'm so sorry," he stood back up, squinting around for anything that could help him. He found half a bottle of liquid (what it was, he didn't know, and wasn't sure he wanted to) and a battered blanket, and quickly settled back down next to his colleague, holding the makeshift bandage to her head, and trickling the drink onto her lips.

"I...where am I?" she whispered.

She looked so helpless right now. She'd always seemed invincible before, but now...her eyes, wide with fear and confusion, were such a deep sea green as they bore into his. She didn't cry, or make any indication of the pain; even in this state, she was programmed for bravery. But he could see it in her eyes, and that was worse than her admitting it.

"I'm here, Ros."

"Who..."

"Lucas."

She tried to nod, "We were...we were bugging the rooms?"

"Yeah."

"We were caught?"

"Yeah."

She forced herself up onto one elbow, "Are you injured? Is there any way we can get...get a message back to Harry?"

He smiled inwardly; with Ros, bluntness was good. Excellent. "I'm fine – it's you we should be worrying about. He's taken my phone, and yours too."

"Not that you've been looking or anything."

"Nope."

"Glad to hear it."

He could still hear the pain in her voice, though; the anguish. Would they get out of here? Would she survive? She wasn't stupid; she knew she was badly injured. There was only so long she could pretend otherwise, even when pretending was in her blood.

"Ros, let me look at your head."

"It's just a scratch."

"No, come here," he grabbed her before she could resist. The blood trickled through his fingers, and several tears found their way down her face, too. Well, he'd be a hypocrite if he blamed her for that – his eyes were hardly dry.

"Lucas..." her voice was dry and rasping.

"It's okay. You're going to be okay," he couldn't find anything else to say as he cradled her to his chest. He'd prayed many times whilst in Russia. He'd prayed for his parents, and for his colleagues, and for his friends. He'd prayed that peace would be brought to the world, and that poverty would end forever. He'd prayed that he'd be rescued; that he'd find a way out of that hell. And now he prayed for Ros, harder than ever before. She couldn't die, not after everything. He couldn't let her. "We're going to be okay."

XxXxX

**Just in**** case you were still wondering, I don't own Spooks... *sniff***


	7. Nothingness

**This is probably going to seem in the wrong order, seen as the last chapter will be D for Death, but this one's a bit different again – it's from the team's perspective in the days after her death. Hope you enjoy, please review!**** :) xx**

Nothingness

_Harry's POV_

Harry slammed the door of his office and slumped down at his desk. He wished, not for the first time, that there were blinds on the windows – he could just do with something to give him a little more privacy right now. But, as usual, he couldn't have what he wanted. When could you?

Unable to sit still, he stood up and poured himself a large scotch, glugging it down in a matter of seconds. Who cared what the doctor said? He just needed to forget last week, in any way necessary.

He'd sat here when Adam had died, exactly as he had now. Angry, shocked, tearful. Ros had come in, evidently feeling the same way, but trying her best to hide it. They'd had some frank conversation (there was never any fooling around with Ros, which he'd always been thankful for...) about life and death, and everything in between. And somehow, just knowing he wasn't alone, he'd calmed down.

Now, though? Now he felt as if a hole was opening up inside him – a void. Ros was gone. Whatever he'd said, he'd always loved Ros. The Home Secretary had once asked her which part of her boss they'd used to clone her, and Harry supposed that was a perfectly radical question. They had been similar. Similar, and yet so different.

He still had Ruth, he told himself. He still had the woman he loved. But, if he dared to admit it, he could never had a proper conversation with her about emotion; they were always too scared of hurting each other.

He'd asked her to marry him, in the graveyard after the funeral. She'd said no – he'd blanked the excuses, but he knew there was something about them not being closer than they were now. Well, he supposed he didn't deserve her, did he? But then Ros didn't deserve this.

He'd killed Nicholas Blake – the old Home Secretary, and a former great friend of his. The last words he'd said as he fell to the floor in agony? _You'll never have what I had with Nightingale – the chance, even for just one moment, to really change everything._ That was true too, wasn't it?

He'd never felt more that he couldn't go on than he did right now.

XxXxX

_Ruth's POV_

Ruth wrapped her hands tighter around the mug of tea she clutched, breathing in the scent of it. The Grid was silent aside from the buzz of computers; it felt odd. She glanced across to Harry; he seemed to be drinking something altogether heavier than she herself. She couldn't blame him, either.

She wanted to go and talk to him – to tell him everything would be okay. But he wanted to be alone now, didn't he? He wanted to think about Ros. When he'd asked her to marry him, he'd been emotional – Ros's funeral had been hard for all of them, but particularly him. She'd said no; had that been the right response? She didn't know. She really didn't know.

XxXxX

_Lucas's POV_

Eight years in Russian hell. Eight years. And sometimes, when he lay awake in the middle of the night staring up at the ceiling, he wondered why. Why he'd done it. Why he hadn't just given up. But he knew the answer to that, really. Because he'd loved his country. That wasn't such a bad position to be in.

Ros. Ros had suffered too, he knew. She'd been twisted as a double agent, poisoned, sent away from the country, held at gunpoint... She'd seen colleagues die before her eyes; she'd killed Jo. And now...now she was dead. Was that good – the suffering had stopped? Or bad – she'd had so much life left to live, so much substance left to give. He settled on somewhere in between.

He'd been there, in a way. When she'd told him to leave, he'd seen it in her eyes that she knew she'd die. She hadn't looked scared. Just regretful. She'd always been brave, hadn't she? She could've just walked away from Andrew Lawrence – he was a politician, for God's sake; politicians could be replaced, just as Nicholas Blake had been.

Oh, Nicholas Blake. How he'd have loved to take him by the throat and shoot his guts out. The Home Secretary – in charge of so, so much. Trusted, if not respected, by the country. Involved so deeply in MI5. And the murderer of Ros, his replacement, and so many others. Sarah had died because of him. He hadn't deserved to live.

_Colleagues are okay_. That was what Ros had told him once – friends, family and lovers were all crap, but colleagues were just about bearable. Well, if it was any consolation to her now, he agreed.

XxXxX

_Tariq's POV_

Ros had never liked him, had she? Since the moment he'd walked in the door, he'd been doomed:

_What is THAT?_

_Tell him to lose the bloody t-shirt!_

_What's that in English?_

Then again, she was like that with pretty much anyone she met. Always prepared with a witty one-liner. He guessed it didn't mean she hadn't liked him; maybe she just didn't like change. Well, she wasn't the only one. Or _hadn't been_ the only one.

He'd been a relative newcomer compared to her. Now, though, there were new officers coming in – notably, a new head of section called Erin, who liked to wear particularly high heels and tiny skirts. Fine, if you wanted to fancy your boss. But not so great when you needed her to run up and down stairs and leap out of the way of bombs.

Speaking of bombs, that was how Ros had died. He and his friends, back at school, had once discussed how they'd like to die. Run over, gunshot, or bomb? Many of his friends had said run over – maybe they'd live, they said. They'd kind of missed the point about _dying_; it wasn't which one had the best likelihood of survival.

But anyway, he'd always said bomb. Much more final, he'd said. More dignified – there wasn't any pouring blood from your skull, or tears trickling down your face when you were found. You were just...gone. It was like being cremated. It couldn't hurt for long, could it?

He hoped now that it had been like that for Ros. Quick, easy, painless... Just drifting away. She deserved that, even if she hadn't liked his t-shirts.

XxXxX


	8. Death

**The last one, seen as I've reached the end of 'Rosalind'. I might do them for other characters though..****. any ideas? Actually, this was going to be the last Ros one, but as Genevastar said, I could always do the surname if I had any time ;)**

**This is basically R****os trying to prepare for death in the corridor, but can you really be ready for it? It might be a little angsty – I loved Ros :( Oh, and guess what? I don't own them, or what they're saying xxx**

She thought about what she'd said to Russell Price. About not being scared of dying. Only regretting not being around to know what it was like. She wondered if it was true, or if she'd just said it in an effort to force the truth out. She didn't know. She wouldn't ever know now, would she?

_"Ros – you should go. There's no point in us both dying._"

"_There's not room for this in my job description._"

The home secretary lay in her arms, helpless. She could just run; get out of the building. She would disappear to Florida, or New Zealand. She might buy a pony, or a new car. She'd left people before – to die, and she could do it again. But she wouldn't. Not this time.

She liked him, Andrew Lawrence. She liked how he wound Harry up with Cambridge and Twitter, and how he seemed so desperate to please his father – she could empathise with both situations. She liked how unlike a politician he seemed – yes, he looked for approval, but...but who didn't? Even if others couldn't see it, Ros yearned for Harry to tell her she'd done well. Just once.

She liked his eyes, too. She liked his smile. Maybe, in a different world, something could've happened between them. But she knew it wouldn't now – she knew she couldn't get him out of the building. And, worse still, he knew it too. She could hear it in his voice:

"_I gave the president the code device, like you asked._"

_"You know we had our doubts about you?_"

They both laughed. Not because anything was funny. But because they knew their fate, and they weren't going to fall divided. They spoke in the future tense – things would still go on around them after they'd gone, wouldn't they?

_"You did really well. Harry will love you for it._"

_"Ha. Harry's sacked. You're my new security chief now._"

The corridor was silent; deathly silent. All Ros could hear was the sound of her own laboured breathing as she dragged Andrew little by little along the carpet. Her lungs were bursting, but still she kept on going, gasping as she forced herself to move.

She thought about what would be happening outside – Madassar would be in front of a camera now. Nightingale had failed, and the country wouldn't fall. That wasn't such a bad dying thought, was it?

She thought about Lucas, and Harry, and Ruth, and Tariq. Would they go to her funeral? Her mother, and her step-father? What about her real father – would he be allowed leave? Would he even know she was dead? And would he care? Sometimes, you could love someone too much.

She thought about Adam. She thought about Jo. And she wondered if, maybe, she'd see them again. So much had been left unsaid. But maybe it was better that way. She forced herself to speak to Andrew again:

_"Now, you see that light? That is what we are aiming for. That's our way out of here, okay? Just keep...keep moving...towards the light._"

There was a long, long pause. The quiet said things that words could never begin to touch on between them. They didn't really needed to speak anyway – they understood.

_"Ros. How long have we got_."

She stopped still in the corridor, and held him just a little bit tighter as she replied, _"Not long._"

The building shook, and she was thrown upwards, still holding Andrew. The pain didn't last for long as they were torn apart. In milliseconds, it was over, and everything faded to eternal darkness.

XxXxX

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